Life Sketches

Learning to sink
or swim at Perkins

On my way home, while passing over the Elmer Sitts Road that links Monticello to Hyder Road, I always note a sign that marks “The Stauring Retreat,” which amounts to several small camps situated in the woods. Invariably, I think, “what ever happened to Chick Stauring?” I haven’t seen him in more than 50 years.

I don’t even know if he uses the retreat or if he lives anywhere near Richfield. I do know that I am and will always be deeply indebted to him.

When I was about 12 or 13, all the kids used to go to swim at Perkins on Canadarago Lake. There was a long dock that took you out into deep water and beyond that a large float on which we played innumerable games of tag. At that time there was a gas pump, boat rentals and a store up by the road where the Perkins sold everything from fishhooks to hamburgers.

I was new to the lake and new to swimming but that didn’t stop me from trying to teach Nina Hill how to tread water. She was my age and her family lived in an apartment in back of my Aunt Ruta’s house.

Nina wasn’t really interested in learning how to swim, but I assured her, while pulling her away from the shore, that the deeper the water, the easier it is to float. She did the usual amount of screaming for girls her age but I didn’t let it discourage me. Soon, we were in water up to our shoulders and I truly believed that when she had to, Nina would swim. As we advanced, the lake bottom dropped away and suddenly we were both in water over our heads. Nina clung to my neck like a boa constrictor as I stood on the bottom holding my breath.

Her head was out of the water but she was choking me while kicking frantically. In a short time, I was out of air and had no choice but to break away from her and swim to the float. When I looked back, she was going under water and flapping like a bird. By the time I climbed onto the float, I could see her standing on the bottom, her arms working but her body resting there like a stone.

I began to yell, “Help, she’s drowning! She’s drowning!” I guess most of the kids thought I was fooling around but Chick Stauring, an athletic guy who was a few years older than me, was standing on the beach and took my pleas seriously. He ran down the dock and dove into the water. In a short time he was pulling Nina towards the shore. He set her down on the grass as she coughed up what looked like a gallon of water. I was frightened and worried and felt like a coward for abandoning her but at the time I wasn’t a strong enough swimmer to carry her. I knew she would have taken us both down.

Later, I thanked Chick for saving her but he made light of it. To my surprise, Nina wasn’t mad at me. Nevertheless, I got on my bike and peddled like hell to get home before her so I could casually tell her mother she had swallowed a little water that day.

I hate to think about how things would have gone if Chick didn’t save her. I don’t think I’d be living in Richfield Springs today. I would never have been able to forgive myself. How could Nina’s family ever have forgiven me? In the past, I’ve seen a whole town turn on someone who was responsible for doing something like what I almost did. I wonder if Chick Stauring even remembers how he saved two lives. I see Nina at social gatherings from time to time. Invariably, the near drowning comes up with a chuckle from both of us.

To think, I almost snuffed out a whole constellation of life’s roles: wife, mother, grandmother, caretaker of many, many children — and friend. It blows my mind.

I am really indebted to Chick who I recently learned passed away several years ago.

Related to the subject of drowning, I once saw Chick drink a glass of water that went into his stomach but not down his throat — but that’s another story.